


About Bruises and Gentleness

by CeridwenofWales



Series: The Sea Wolves [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Childhood, Children, Depression, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Parenthood, Postpartum Depression, References to Depression, Unresolved Emotional Tension, baby's first steps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:12:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/pseuds/CeridwenofWales
Summary: Ivar talks about conquering Kingdoms while Sigtrygg is busy trying to capture a strong-willed cat and Moyra tries to teach him some gentleness.





	About Bruises and Gentleness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifinkufreaky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/gifts), [grungyblonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungyblonde/gifts), [pokeasleepingsmaug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/gifts), [TiyeTiye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiyeTiye/gifts), [Cant_Avoid_Thoughts_Cant_Deny_Feelings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_Avoid_Thoughts_Cant_Deny_Feelings/gifts).



> I have many links to share when it comes to diapers during Viking Age, but I'll post them later on. ^^

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She was smiling, despite her dress being soaked because of the excited hands splashing water in all directions.

 

“Are you bathing, Mama?” Moyra asked, massaging his scalp with the herbal soap Ingrid gave her.

 

Sigtrygg giggled, lifting his toy to his mouth.

 

“You are devouring Fenrir. My baby is so fierce,” Moyra leaned down to kiss his forehead.

 

“Close your eyes! Mama will wash out the soap,” Moyra chuckled when the baby shut his eyes tightly and opened his mouth. She used one of her hands to hold his head back as to avoid the water running to his eyes. Sigtrygg gasped, flailing his arms and opening his eyes when she spilled the water from a bowl onto his head.

 

“Mama is holding you. Don't worry!” she whispered and Sigtrygg gulped, staring at Moyra. After rinsing his hair, she washed out the dirt from his body. With Sigtrygg crawling everywhere, bathing him had been taking longer than before.

 

“You are smelling so good. I'll eat those little toes,” Moyra held his feet up, leaning forward with her mouth open.

 

He let out a piercing scream, then a high-pitched giggle as Moyra nibbled his toe.

 

Moyra didn't notice Ivar leaning against the door with a smile on his face as he watched the scene unfolding before him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Moyra had barely finished dressing Sigtrygg and he was squirming and grunting, insisting on being put down, quieting only after being allowed to stand on his own and clinging to her legs for balance. It had been some weeks since he started leaning on the stools, benches, and walls to move around and Moyra watched with bated breath as Sigtrygg could stand on his toes, trying to reach things that were impossible before. He could even let go of the support and stand on his own for a few instants, without noticing, until his chubby legs trembled, and he would squat once more or cry for Moyra’s help if afraid he would fall.

 

Their kitten purred from the hall and Sigtrygg giggled, looking up at Moyra.

 

“Should we see what she is doing?” she bent over, holding his hands and helping Sigtrygg to walk a few steps. _It won't be long until he is running!_ Moyra felt a twinge of sadness at the thought one day he wouldn't need her anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The cat was leaning her head down, drinking water from her bowl when Sigtrygg entered into the hall, babbling and holding Moyra's hands to walk. Seeing his advances were slower that way, Sigtrygg grunted for Moyra to release his hands. He knelt, crawling to where the pet was sitting, licking her paw.

 

Ivar and Erik were discussing the possibility of an alliance with one of the Christian Kings to contain the threat the High King Maél represented.

 

“The only way to keep us strong is to go further inland. If we remain trapped at the coast, it will be easier for them to align and push us to the sea,” Erik said and knew Ivar was listening, even though his attention had shifted to his son.

 

 _It's the only way to build a future for you_. Ivar smiled, watching Sigtrygg grabbing the cat's tail.

 

“But we need more warriors to defeat King Maél…” Ivar glanced at Erik, jaw clenching at the thought of how much he would be risking by leaving the safety of his stronghold to march against an enemy that certainly knew the land better and had strong allies.

 

“Maybe we can call your brothers to join us…” Erik proposed, smirking at the sight of the cat mewling in protest when Sigtrygg leaned down to bite its tail.

 

“My brothers have their own quarrels in Alba…” Ivar sighed, running his fingers through his hair and staring at Moyra. _Her land_.

 

Moyra was too distracted to notice his heavy gaze as she tried to show Sigtrygg how to be more tender with their cat. She sat on the ground, holding her child's hand and showing him how to stroke behind the animal's ears and gently runs his fingers alongside the face. The animal let out a purr of contentment and Moyra chuckled.

 

“Maybe we can join forces with someone who wants Maél’s downfall as much as we do,” Ivar said, remembering how treacherous the alliances in Eire were. The Christian Kings would ally among themselves to defeat the invaders from the North in the Autumn and change sides in the Summer.

 

 _Maybe I can take advantage of their disloyalty._ Ivar pondered, chuckling when the cat managed to escape from Sigtrygg's hands, jumping onto the table.

 

“Do you mean...” Erik frowned, unsure about what Ivar was implying.

 

“No man rises to power without attracting envy and resentment upon himself and that's something we can take advantage of.” Ivar’s teeth bared in a most wolfish grin as he reached for a jar of mead to refill their cups.

 

“One kingdom at a time then.” Erik lifted his cup in agreement, laughing.

 

“Look at your boy! He will soon be running around.” Erik chuckled, and Ivar turned to see Sigtrygg trying to climb onto a bench to pull the cat closer. Moyra was on her knees and placed one hand on his trunk and the other on his back so she could hold him if he lost balance, preventing a fall.

 

Ivar smiled as a tidal wave of possessiveness washed over him. _Our boy._ Ivar couldn't stop staring at them. His chest was swelling with pride at the sight of Moyra enjoying a moment of pure bliss, but tears welled up in his eyes when he thought that if their daughter had lived, Sigtrygg would probably be chasing her instead of pursuing the cat. Ivar swallowed the lump in his throat because that was not the moment to grieve what was taken from them, but to celebrate and encourage their son to bloom.

 

The animal jumped from the table and Sigtrygg shrieked, frustrated that he didn't manage to reach her. Erik sniggered, tapping Ivar's shoulder.

 

"We can discuss this later," Ivar tilted his head at Erik, dismissing him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sigtrygg was in Moyra's arms, crying against the crook of her neck when Ivar walked closer to them.

 

“What happened, son?” He knelt before them and caressed the baby's back. Sigtrygg turned to look at him, babbling as if he were trying to explain why he was sad.

 

“I see! For some reason, she ran from you, huh?” Ivar winked at Moyra and she giggled, leaning forward to kiss their child's forehead.

 

“Come with Fađir and we will catch her!” Ivar opened his arms to welcome him and Sigtrygg sniffed, placing his hands over Ivar’s knees to stand. Ivar laughed as Sigtrygg climbed his leg.

 

Ivar noticed the way Moyra gulped, looking at her hands and felt immediately guilty for taking their son from her. The discomfort ebbed as soon as Sigtrygg wrapped his arms around Ivar's neck, leaning his head against his shoulder.

 

As if feeling it was safe to approach, the cat walked out of her hiding place and leaned her head on Moyra's lap. Moyra smirked at Ivar, stroking behind the ears of the animal. Sigtrygg listened to her purring and lifted his head from Ivar's shoulder.

 

“We found her, son!” Ivar shouted and Sigtrygg kicked, releasing a high-pitched scream.

 

“Is that so?” Moyra whispered, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows. Ivar grinned, amused by her mockery and pressed his mouth to Sigtrygg's ear, his gaze never leaving her face.

 

“Be gentle!” Ivar murmured to his son, kneeling next to Moyra, “Like your Mođir.” Ivar held Sigtrygg's hand and guided his movements over the cat's head, alongside her spine. The animal mewled, closing her eyes and Ivar released his hand when he felt Sigtrygg understood how he should act. Sigtrygg squirmed off of Ivar’s knee and slid to the ground. He mirrored Moyra's moves, looking up at her and Ivar from time to time with a smile.

 

Sigtrygg leaned down and tried to hug the kitten, “Nana,” Moyra gasped, glancing at Ivar as if to confirm Sigtrygg was pronouncing his first words.

 

“Mama,” Moyra repeated slowly and Sigtrygg laid on the cat, smiling and gurgling.

 

“I think…” Ivar was about to tell Moyra their son was not addressing her, but she cut him off.

 

“Sh! I want to listen!” Moyra hissed, glaring at him and then shifting her attention to Sigtrygg.

 

“But he was not saying Mama,” Ivar grinned, muttering under his breath but Moyra ignored him.

 

“Say Mama again!” she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and tried to stop him from squeezing the animal’s neck, but to no avail. Fearing he would be scratched, Moyra lifted him in her arms. Sigtrygg kicked and screamed, forcing Moyra to sit him on the ground, before her.

 

The cat ran and laid away from them, licking her paws. Sigtrygg wailed, stretching his arms, but was being ignored by the pet. He laid with his face pressed to the ground and stirred when Moyra tried to hold him.

 

Ivar placed his hand on her shoulder and shook his head to stop her, “He must understand!”

 

Moyra nodded, biting her lip. She didn’t know if they were doing what was right for their child, but she agreed Sigtrygg should see frustration was part of life and so she allowed him to weep for a few minutes and kept patting his bottom to reassure her child he was not alone.

 

After a while, Sigtrygg was calmer and sat, babbling to their cat, “Nana… na na…”

 

Moyra laughed, staring at Ivar, “Maybe he was not talking to me.” Ivar chuckled but Sigtrygg attracted his attention.

 

“Look!” Ivar tilted his head to show Sigtrygg was holding his weight on his hands and knees, but instead of crawling, he was trying to rise from the ground.

 

Moyra watched with wide eyes as Sigtrygg grunted in his effort to balance his weight in widespread legs that were still gaining strength. His feet were turned inward, and he was shaking his arms to balance his weight, swinging back and forth.

 

Sigtrygg clenched his fists in front of his body and took an insecure step, “Na! Na!”

 

Moyra gasped at the sight of her son’s first steps. She turned to Ivar, biting her bottom lip in anxiety he would be as happy as she was with their child’s achievement. His lips parted into a wide smile and Moyra looked away, embarrassed at the way she could feel her heart racing and blood flowing to her skin. She wondered if his gaze would one day cease to make her so uneasy.

 

Moyra felt her breathing slowing down as soon as her eyes focused on their son. Sigtrygg was moving his arms to balance his weight and tried to waddle another step when he felt confident he wouldn’t fall. She laughed at how he reminded her of the drunk men during the feasts. Sigtrygg turned to glance at her from over his shoulder and fell on his bottom. Moyra rushed to him but sighed relieved when the baby giggled and clutched to her to pull himself up, bouncing up and down.

 

“I’ll have to use more linen cloths to wrap around you, huh?” Moyra chuckled, patting Sigtrygg’s butt.

 

“Maybe he would walk better barefoot,” Ivar suggested with a smile and although Moyra wanted to protest she had just bathed Sigtrygg, she agreed it would be for the best if Sigtrygg could feel the ground. She pressed her lips together, remembering the feeling of the moist grass beneath the soles of her feet when she was a little girl, running to the lake with Aidan.

 

Moyra tried to sit her son in her lap to remove his shoes, but Sigtrygg writhed, flailing his arms and bawling, “Sh! Mama will remove the shoes.” Sigtrygg watched the movement of her fingers, lifting his hand to his mouth and babbling.

 

“Go to Fađir!” Moyra knelt, holding Sigtrygg from under his armpits until she felt he found his balance.

 

“Come here! Yes! This way…” Ivar urged him on as Sigtrygg was outstretching his arms and breathing heavily because of the effort.

 

Moyra followed closely behind him on her knees as Sigtrygg was swaying back and forth and took three clumsy steps before falling on his butt and crawling to Ivar.

 

Ivar wrapped his arms around his son, kissing every inch of his face he could reach and tickling him with his beard as Sigtrygg threw his head back, gurgling. Moyra cheered, clapping her hands and smiling at Sigtrygg.

 

“At least he forgot about Nanna!” Moyra grinned, sitting in front of them.

 

“Nanna?” Ivar tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing as if there was more on his mind than curiosity.

 

Sigtrygg was leaning against Ivar’s chest, running his fingertips over his arm ring.

 

“Yes… the cat. He called her Nanna,” Moyra blinked, releasing a shaky breath when the intensity of his stare became unbearable.

 

“I thought that maybe we could…” She stuttered, lowering her eyes to the baby and clutching at her skirt not to show how her hands were trembling.

 

“As Baldr’s wife?” Ivar ran his fingers through Sigtrygg’s hair, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, not daring to look up at Ivar.

 

“I think it’s perfect. I feared we would have to call her cat forever.” the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile and Moyra chuckled.

 

“Wise choice!” The way he appraised Moyra sent a chill down her spine.

 

“It was him.” Moyra held Sigtrygg hand and leaned down to kiss his knuckles.

 

“Of course!” Ivar beamed at them.

 

“We should train those legs a little more, huh?” Ivar kissed Sigtrygg’s forehead and lifted him up, helping him to gain his balance.

 

“Look at his toes!” Moyra snickered, noticing the way Sigtrygg was trying to clutch the ground with his feet.

 

“I could eat them,” Ivar confessed, still holding Sigtrygg’s trunk.

 

“I know.” Moyra guffawed.

 

They sat in front of each other with Sigtrygg walking back and forth between them until he lost his balance and bumped his head on the floor. He cried, lifting his arms for Moyra to pick him up.

 

“Oh, my baby! I know it hurts, but it will pass.” She kissed the bruise on his forehead and Ivar shifted closer, placing one hand on her shoulder and the other on Sigtrygg’s back.

 

Sigtrygg threw his arms around Moyra’s neck, hugging her tightly and sobbing in the crook of her neck while Ivar and Moyra whispered comforting words.

 

They managed to soothe him after a few minutes. Sigtrygg started sucking on his thumb and tugging Moyra’s cleavage. Ivar knew how uncomfortable Moyra was to nurse Sigtrygg when he was around, so he kissed the top of the baby’s head and walked to the table with the excuse he would fetch a cup of mead while Moyra headed to their quarters.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

I recognize the cry and I know it means pain. There are so many forms of suffering. This cry is your way to tell that you need me. I will always stop what I’m doing and rush to you. I will always run to hold you because I need to console you as much as you need to be comforted. I feel each of your bumps and bruises as if they are marking my skin as much as yours. From first face scratches to bloody lips, your pain is mine.

 

Guilt and uncertainty eat me a little from inside with each tear that streams down your face. I feel my breasts swell and start to leak hearing your cry. My arms instinctively reach out to touch you, to let you know that I am here. I will always try to be here for you even when leaving the bed is difficult and the sky seems cloudy. Even when I’m sinking into myself, I will try to pull myself up with as much determination as you have been showing with your first steps.

 

There’s no hesitation when I sit against the headboard, uncovering my breast.

 

My hands are gentle as they smooth your soft hair and you tremble when I touch the sore spot on your forehead. Oh, my love! I know everything about bruises and tenderness, but I’m still trying at gentleness with the parts that hurt the most.

 

My voice whispers “Mama is here, my love!” through the sound of my milk flowing to your mouth. Those sweet sighs and whimpers when the discomfort fades away. The sharp breaths as you feel my love replacing your suffering and pain. I’d do anything to take that agony away.

The rope that connects us is no longer of flesh and thick with pumping blood, now it is invisible and pumping love.

 

I watch your eyelids fluttering with drowsiness as you twist my hair between your plump fingers, nuzzling against my breast. I don’t dare to move and lay you on the bed, even though my arms are aching. I want this image to be forever seared in my mind.


End file.
